One by One
by Kinthinia
Summary: He never meant for it to happen like this. This wasn't the plan. He stared at her body, at her lifeless eyes and he tried to draw her pain away, tried to give her power back... but he couldn't. He couldn't do it. Peter Hale wasn't good enough -could never be good enough. He was, however: a girlfriend stealing son-of-a-bitch and a filthy coward who hid while his family burned to ash


Awareness came to him slowly, cell by aching cell. For a long time there had been simply nothing, as though he had been asleep for too long. Slowly though, he could begin to sense someone's presence. She came in bustling, speaking soothing nonsense before leaving again. She checked in on him every few hours. It took him a long time to have enough awareness to sense the hospital surroundings he was enveloped in. And it didn't take much longer to begin to resent the nurse who coddled him like a pathetic infant.

It was an agonizing process. Each cell that returned to him, each sharper spike or consciousness he was blessed with, brought pain with it. He could feel the scars tugging on his skin, the way the wounds ached, bled and oozed underneath the medical wrappings. Was this what it felt to be human? He had known pain before this -brief flashes, ones he could wave off within seconds. But this was on another level entirely, every breath he took was laboured and it pained him, bit deep into his lungs and tried to choke him back to sleep. Or death.

But he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

He could remember her, standing there at the doorway with a sadistic grin and laughter in her eyes as she set the place on fire. He watched Talia leap away, racing up the stairs to where the children were. Disoriented by the unbearably bright flash bombs, Peter staggered away downstairs. He could hear Cora, crying, pleading desperately from the other end of the house. Talia was still upstairs, further away from Cora as she tended to the human children and tried to get them out. But Kate hadn't come alone or unprepared. There was an older man at the back of the house. He butchered them all.

No Argent would ever get the satisfaction of killing Peter Hale. Choosing the coward's way out was easier, as he thrust his niece's cries for help out of his mind. He ignored the dull, wet _thwack _each arrow made. He half fell into the basement, ran to the wall he knew was the weakest -where they had been planning renovations. Cora had decimated the thing last week, during the full moon. If it couldn't stand against her, it wouldn't stand against Peter either. He threw himself at it with a gusto, even as the stairs above him fell apart into pieces, fiery debris eating at him. He screamed, but didn't stop, tearing through wood and stone until -

Until he could sense her, nearly taste her. She wore too much perfume, likely just a dab of faded orchids and vanilla, but it bothered his sensitive nose. That was the first thing he noticed. And then there was pain, and irritation and he couldn't think past that. It was confusing.

But when he had it all put together, the memory of that night, the brutal slaughter of his family... The Argents were the ones behind it. And he would never give anyone the satisfaction of killing him if it wasn't on his terms. Was it possible that Talia was still alive? He moved his senses away from the hospital and the noise, the endless, inexhaustive noise, towards seeking his Alpha. Ringing silence met his every sense, pelting him with exhaustion and a bone-deep loneliness. There was no one in his world beyond himself and his nurse.

It was long after that, but he didn't know how long exactly, that he could sense other people in the hospital. The man with Alzheimer's, the woman with dementia, the paranoid cancerous prick who was going to die soon but had to start a fight with nursing staff every five minutes. It was close to being alive. As close as he had come since the fire. He couldn't move. As much as he tried to.

"Oh Peter," his nurse cooed, with that breathless, fluttery voice of hers. "Peter, you have some visitors today. What a great day." She laughed, timid, tentative before turning and leaving.

He could just hear quiet footsteps, soft footfalls echoing behind them before his senses were slammed full of _Alpha _. That was his Alpha, right there. Just beyond his eyes. He desperately tried to reach for her, to call for her, but he was still too weak. He couldn't move. He couldn't react. He could feel though. Cell by excruciating cell as his flesh gradually knitted itself together, as the burns turned to scars that pulled and ached and no matter what his regenerative skills were -were completely un-healable beyond this point.

It had to have been a year, if not more, that had passed. No, definitely more. There was no dressings on his wounds, they were scars by now. Or mostly, at any rate. It was hard to tell without being able to see.

"Hey Uncle Peter," Laura said softly, sitting down beside him.

Derek didn't say anything, but Peter could still feel him there, brooding at the end of his deathbed.

"We came back for Christmas," Laura continued, setting her hands over his. "Merry Christmas. I'm sorry we couldn't come sooner. It's just... I think someone was following us."

Then why had she come back at all? Idiot. Peter would have sighed if he could have.

"We lost them. And it was time... I just... if you're here, uncle, please. We need you. I don't know what I'm doing."

"We'll be fine, Laura," Derek interjected. "We can't do anything for him. The doctors said -"

"I know what they said!" Laura snapped. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I know... but I just have this feeling, like he's not all gone."

Peter would have given anything if she had let Derek finish that sentence. What exactly had the doctors said? He was brain dead? Comatose obviously. Were the doctors trying to convince them to take him off the machines he was attached to? Already? There was no way he could survive it.

It was jarring to realize that in the next instant, Laura and Derek were gone. Peter had lost more time. It was a frequent part of his half-life. It felt like his mind wandered and when he came back, he could sense that he was alone. But there was something different about him, although he couldn't tell what it was exactly. His pack had come to him -and he still had a pack left. He still had family! Real family. That was a relief. Laura would do well as Alpha, and Derek would actually get around to listening to her. He respected her enough for it.

Memories were something of a relief, to wallow in and surround himself with. He couldn't stand the noise of the seventeen televisions he could hear, many of which were a hollow echo of his own. Sounds of nature, or soap operas and musicals. Headache inducing, nauseating pieces of work that should never had made it to see daylight. Let alone to air as daylight television. Why not call it nightmare galore free-for-all where every character is going to try and have sex with the other characters only they're going to fail and be caught by angry, embittered spouses who aren't satisfied enough. What drudgery was this shit? It was only natural that he tumbled into a nasty, bitter minefield of a memory that he had hoped to never revisit again when he was trying to escape the horrors of daytime television.

_Peter strode over, unabashed. She was beautiful -and freshly eighteen, as he knew well. She was sitting in the library, her head buried in a comic book. Dark red hair bounced around her as she turned to find him, her curls dancing across her bright grey eyes as he approached her. She grinned, bright white teeth flashing in the semi-dark. Amelia was as smart and clever as she was beautiful, witty sarcasm always on the tip of her tongue._

_"Petey, you made it," she purred, delighted. "I was worried you wouldn't."_

"It's your _birthday, how could I not?" he grinned at her as he sat down next to her. He'd been waiting for eight months already. Being late had not been in his agenda. Oh well, he could still recover. Probably._

_"Davis couldn't make it," she sighed. "I thought he was going to try, at least."_

_"You know us men, unreliable," Peter quipped, smirking. "Let me take you out somewhere. We can have fun."_

_"I don't think that's the kind of fun I want to have," she retorted, peering at her comic again. "Your fun is dangerous and reckless and someone usually gets hurt."_

_"Derek's never broken a bone before," Peter lied seamlessly. "No permanent damage has ever been done," he amended just as quickly, smiling hopefully at her. "Come on out. Davis doesn't have to know."_

_"He hates when I do this," Amelia countered. "He gets worried."_

"We'll be back before he knows," he pressed. "Come on, you're only eighteen once. Let's make it special -at least make it fun."

"Comic books are fun. Or are you making fun of me now?"

"Only your lack of a social life."

" My _lack of a social life?" She laughed. "You're the one who hangs around with his nephew all the time."_

_"Aw, don't hold it against me. I'm a loner. Besides I do have college buddies but they're out of state and someone needs to keep an eye on Derek."_

_"Because you're the perfect candidate, I suppose," she teased. "I'm sure Laura's happy to spend time with him. She's got to be a better influence than you."_

_Peter fake gasped. "My heart, you've wounded me."_

_"You're the one trying to make a move on an engaged woman," Amelia shot back._

_"Well I haven't heard you complain yet." Besides, eighteen was terribly young to get married. There was an eternity left for her to change her mind and it wasn't as though Davis was the best man. He was, in fact, probably the worst man. She needed to realize that before she decided to get married to him. Peter was just trying to speed the process along. "Please?"_

It was a while later, what seemed to feel like ages later, really, before there was anything more than friendship between Amelia and him. Davis was an annoying prick, floating in the distance -a cougar that Peter liked to avoid. He was careful, though, always was when it involved Amelia. Peter and Caution went hand-in-hand wherever they went and there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it. He schemed and thought of ways he could tear the couple apart -because no bastard in the world deserved someone as wonderful as Amelia. Peter wasn't a bastard and he would never hurt her the way that Davis had.

_The first time, he believed her. When she said she fell._

_The second time, he listened more closely to her heart. And he heard the tell-tale sign, that left him reeling and furious._

_The third time, she told him the truth. Not because she wanted to, but she didn't really have much choice when Peter found her lying on her couch, unconscious and nearly dead._

_She always promised there would never be a fourth time._

It turned out a bit differently of course. There was a fourth time, but there was never going to be a fifth one, as Peter knelt on the floor beside her and tried to draw her pain away. Her face was bloodied, and she was bleeding from a nasty wound on her head. One that he could already tell would never be healed. Even if he bit her now, with or without her consent... she would probably never be entirely there.

Once upon a time, there was a young man with a plan. He was going to sweep in and save the damsel, press that gloating, chaste kiss to her sweet, sweet lips, and he was going to make her happy. He was going to make her his, give her freedom and presents and bask her with all the love she deserved.

Once upon a long time ago, there was a princess who couldn't be saved by any man or woman.

Amelia died in his arms, with Peter never having told her how he felt.

Then came the day Peter's eyes turned blue, as he hunted down the sick bastard that killed her and he eviscerated him. Nice and slowly. And just as he was nearing the brink of death, Peter forcefully gave him the bite. And then he started the process over. Again and again. Until, eventually, there was nothing left of Davis. He buried the body in the woods and never told a soul.

But you didn't have to tell Talia anything. Because she knew. She always knew. She caught sight of his blue eyes, and just gave him a look. One of crushing pity. And Peter promised, never again.

It was sometime after her third visit, but before her fifth that Peter realized what he would have to do in order to heal. As a beta, he didn't have enough power. He needed more. It took a long time, of sitting there in his shell of body and reliving memories and trying to block out the atmosphere. His nurse's simpering tones, the decrepit and dying old people around him... he hated them all.

Living in his head, utterly alone, with only his nurse's voice chattering to him was enough to drive anyone insane. Sometimes he thought he was more there than he wasn't, other times his awareness would be a blessing given to him. He couldn't tell anymore whether he was awake or not -or was he blind? It was so hard to tell. In the back of his mind was his plan though, brilliant as it was. He needed the Alpha's power to heal. He couldn't stand being like this. And he was far enough healed, as much as he could be, that he could sense Laura. Far away, but still, she was there. He could reach out to her now.

So he did. And there was one thing he knew for sure; he didn't want the Alpha's power. He wanted to heal and he was going to have to give it back away as quickly as he could for this to work. It could. It should.

"Peter?" she asked worriedly, sitting across from him. She tentatively set her hand over his. "I felt you call."

And thank god Derek wasn't here. Peter reached out to her, to his Alpha. He felt her respond, felt that familiar connection between beta and alpha.

"You-you're here," she said, awed. "You're -I can _feel _you. Peter -I didn't -we didn't -the doctors said you'd never recover. And we lost everything in the fire, I tried... I tried to see if there was any chance you could recover."

She paused. "Derek's going to be so happy. He's been -it's been -it's been hell. I can't imagine, you're trapped in there..."

He felt her begin to draw the pain away. She had been there, that day too. Of course she knew.

But things rarely work out according to plan, as Peter well knew. Laura never had a chance to really know, either, he realized. She drew enough of his pain back, enough that he could **see **for the first time in an eternity. He could see his niece's reddish hair, her concerned and tear streaked face.

And then he was lunging, with a strength he didn't know he had as he sank his claws into her chest and felt the power change between them. Fumbling, he reached for her hand even as he felt the power welling within him. His bloody hand grabbed hers as he drew her pain back and kept drawing -and drawing -and drawing but there was no more to take.

_No, no. This wasn't... this wasn't what was supposed to happen. He bared his fangs, eyes flashing an ominous red as he held Laura's dead hand._

If you have the spark, sometimes, you can save them.

Peter didn't have that spark. He was incapable of saving anyone.

He carried her outside and left her there for the hunters to deal with. He didn't stay behind to watch, instead returning to his chair as he thought over the note he had seen Laura with. The drawing.

_Argent._


End file.
